Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(49)

He couldn’t wait any longer. He was already hard with the mere thought of losing himself in Isabel. Gingerly he knocked on her bedchamber door.

She opened it and nodded at the sight of him. It was on his tongue to apologize, tell her she was right, he’d been selfish, but none of the words came. Instead, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, slanting his mouth across hers. He kicked the door closed, then spun her around, pressing her back against the wooden plane. To his relief, she didn’t shove him away in disgust but rather wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him back, matching him passion for passion.

Logically, he thought he should slow down, instead he grabbed her bottom to pull her closer, she pulled up her legs and wrapped them around him. Her hands threaded through his hair, and she pushed her tongue against his. God, he wanted her, and she was his for the taking. The thought alone nearly had him spilling his seed.

He walked them over to her bed and sat on the edge, effectively putting her on his lap. His erection pressed against her, but there were too many layers of clothes between them.

“You don’t know how much I want you, Isabel.”

“Then take me.”

“I fully intend to.” With that he began the arduous task of unbuttoning the back of her gown. He took the opportunity of being close to her throat to nibble at her collarbone, kiss the sensitive pulse at the curve of her neck.

Her hips rocked against his, almost frantically, as if she were seconds from going over the edge. Her desire was intoxicating. He shoved the gown down her shoulders, then unlaced her stays, removed her chemise until she sat astride him, her breasts barely covered. He wanted to lave her breasts and nipples in kisses, but he needed to be inside her soon. He’d have the rest of the night to take things slowly. He lifted her off his lap so that her dress fell to her feet. She stepped out of her pantaloons as he quickly removed his clothing.

She crawled into the bed, then held out her hand to him. Ever patient, ever accepting, ever tantalizing. And she was all his. He’d never again take her for granted. Never again ask her to bear the weight of his burden. He might not ever deserve her affections, but he’d be damned if he denied her anything. Ever again.

He moved his body to hers, not fully putting his weight on her. She shifted her hips forward, rubbing herself against his erection. She moaned low in her throat, a sound so unbearably tempting. How had he ever resisted her? How had he thought he could deny himself all that she offered?

He slipped his hand between them. She was already slick with desire. He lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled, and her back arched up off the bed.

“Please, Jason,” she said.

He would deny her no longer. With one smooth movement, he pushed inside her. Hot, tight, deliciously wet. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, trying his damnedest to not lose control. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he narrowed his focus. Pleasure pulsed through him, but he turned his attention to her. She was a virgin, so he remained still until she could adjust to him. She pulled her legs up and around his waist, and he knew she was ready for more.

He shifted his body low so that his pelvic bone met the center of her desire. Then every time he moved inside her, he’d rub against her. Her eyes flickered open, then drifted back closed. His next thrust and she pushed her head into the pillow, her breath coming out in short pants.

She was with him. He wanted them to go over the edge together.

“Isabel, look at me,” he said.

She opened her eyes; her pupils were wide and dark with desire. Then he moved out, almost leaving her body, then plunged forward again. “Stay with me, love.”

Her moans grew louder, more frenzied and then he felt her muscles clenching around him. She cried out his name again and again.

“Jason!”

And on the last one, he let go. She was now his wife.





Chapter Fourteen


Isabel stretched her body against the bed, noting the telltale soreness between her thighs. She smiled, feeling much, she suspected, like a cat who’d just snuck a lap of milk. Jason.

They had made love all night long, and yet she felt more rested now than she had in a long time. She sat upright and searched her room, but there was no sign of her husband. Doubt crept into her. Had he regretted their night together? His admission to her, the truth about his birth, had not changed things for her. She certainly didn’t care who his parents had been. She knew him now, that was all the mattered.

She’d hurt for him and the beleaguered young man he must have been when he’d made the decision to punish himself by not siring any children. The next time they spoke, she would tell him as much. Last night hadn’t been the right time; there had been only murmurs of lovemaking exchanged.

When she had dressed and gone downstairs in search of Jason, she’d been told he was out. He had left a message for her informing her that the Brotherhood had made progress with their investigation; he’d meant to tell her the night before. He’d increased security, which explained the footman waiting outside her bedchamber this morning.

The day passed with no sign of Jason, and she was beginning to feel as if she were prisoner in her own home, as she was scarcely alone. She’d asked if she could take a walk, but had been told no. So, she’d resigned herself to sitting in the parlor reading another instructional manual on fencing.

There came a rap at the door, and in stepped one of the new guards who was currently dressed as a butler.